


Tea And Sympathy

by leomona



Series: Tales From The Commonwealth [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 12:24:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10100711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leomona/pseuds/leomona
Summary: You think most synths want that any more than the people they're sent to replace?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This exists in the same universe as Don't They Know It's The End Of The World, but works just fine all on its own; the series' sole survivor is mentioned only in passing.

The sun was blinding when Sarah stepped out of the County Crossing women's dormitory that morning.

She squinted, raising a hand to shade her eyes, and moved into the shadow of the eastern wall; less direct sun but no less glare, thanks to the satellites to the north reflecting back the light. Three months she'd been here now, and she still couldn't quite believe – nor trust – her luck; who _did_ something like this? What kind of person goes around the Commonwealth helping build and organize safe homes for people with no thought of reward, without even asking for anything in return but a bed for the night when she passed through? Well, she'd find out soon enough, she supposed; word was the General herself had arrived in the middle of the night, along with some kind of _synth_.

Sarah lingered over her razorgrain porridge that morning, hoping to catch a glimpse of them when they came out, but there was no sign of either by the time old Davey'd finished cleaning up the breakfast dishes and started giving her pointed looks; reluctantly, she added her bowl, scraped-clean, to the pile, and headed outside to join the others in the mutfruit fields. Harvest time, and while normally she'd be making the weekly trading runs to Bunker Hill, everyone was needed here until the last of the crop had been picked and preserved. Three weeks with only a single trader passing through had left them – not hurting or scarce, not really, but they'd all welcome a bit more variety in their meals.  _Getting spoiled, living like this,_ thought Sarah.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Sarah lost herself in the rhythm of the work, the almost comforting tedium. Tedium meant predictability, and predictability meant safety, after all. Still, even here they had their troubles, had their scars, and it was Sammy, little Sammy who wandered in half-dead from hunger and exhaustion not a week ago, who hadn't said a word since but pitched in willingly enough if led to some task, whose scars got to be on display today.

"All right, boy, easy there," Sarah heard, low and soothing, and straightened up to look. Jonah, she saw, his hand cupped under Sammy's elbow for support while the young man shook and stared at nothing she could see. "You're fine, now; just sit down a spell, and you'll be fine."

Sarah glanced around, biting her lip – the other workers seemed curious, but happy enough to leave it to Jonah to deal with this – then set down her basket and moved to join the pair. "Need me to do anything?" she asked Jonah quietly. Up close, she could hear Sammy whimpering lowly.

Jonah gave her a helpless look. "No idea what even set him off," he told her quietly. "Or what'll make it worse. But – run and ask Davey for a mug of honeyed tea, will you? Can't think he'd have had much of that anytime recent, the state he was in when he came."

Sarah nodded, turning and trotting back to the settlement proper, its gates thrown wide open this time of day. Slipping inside and over to the kitchens, she entered by the back – and promptly bounced off a coat-covered back.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't -" Sarah's words died in her throat as the man turned around, yellow eyes meeting hers above a ruined, plastic face. Light from the oil lamps glinted softly off metal peeking through gaps in the fake skin; her gaze dropped to where the reflection was brightest, one hand without skin entirely, and she found herself wondering just how strong that metal hand was. How easily it could crush her throat before she could scream.

"Don't worry about it, kid," the synth replied, his voice warm and gravelly and surprisingly human. "Nick Valentine." When Sarah didn't say anything, he added, "You need something?"

"I – tea," Sarah stammered.

"Looks like it's your lucky day, then," the synth said, nodding over to where a kettle sat heating on the stove.

And, Sarah couldn't help noticing, to where a cup was already sitting out, waiting, with a small jug of milk and a pot of honey alongside. "You drink tea?" she asked, too startled to keep the question to herself.

The synth chuckled. "Can't say that was a priority for the Institute, least not for me. No, this is for Naomi. The General," he added. "But feel free to take some."

Sarah nodded, belatedly remembering – "Thanks," she said, fear receding as the synth didn't actually  _do_ anything besides stand there patiently, letting her look her fill. "What's it like?" she dared after a moment, peeking at him sidelong as she fussed with a second cup.

"Tea?" the synth asked dryly, and Sarah flushed. "Not sure what to tell you, doll. Like being any other person, minus the tea and sympathy. Not a lot of folks that'll roll out the welcome mat for an old synth."

"But that's – synths kill people and take their places. Well, other synths," Sarah allowed, not really able to picture this one successfully replacing anyone.

"You think most of 'em want that any more than -" The synth stopped there and gave her a small, resigned smile before speaking once more, the edge of frustration gone from his tone. "It's the Institute that's the real enemy here, kid; not their tools. Most of us just want to be left alone to live our lives, like anyone else."

"Sorry," Sarah said again, not entirely sure why she was apologizing, but feeling obscurely guilty, all the same. The synth – Mr Valentine – gave her a more genuine smile at this.  _The skin at the corner of his eyes crinkles when he does that_ , Sarah thought irrelevantly.

"Water's ready," Mr Valentine said, taking the kettle off the stove and carefully pouring for them both, no cloth to shield himself from the heat of the handle. "You want milk in yours?"

"Uh – sure," Sarah said, figuring Sammy could probably use the extra nutrition, if nothing else. She watched as Mr Valentine's hands, surprisingly deft and delicate, sprinkled mint clippings atop the water in both cups, then reached for the pot of honey. He gave her a questioning look and she nodded.

"See you around, kid," Mr Valentine said as he handed over the finished cup and took his own, heading for the door through to the mess hall.

 _I'm sure_ _nobody'd mind you coming around here, even without the General,_ Sarah thought about saying as she watched him go. Or maybe, _You're welcome so far as I'm concerned._ But in the end she just took the tea and left, without saying anything.

 


	2. Chapter 2

"I  _do_ wish you'd take someone with you," Anna fretted, giving Sarah a pleading look as she helped her load up the cart later that week. "The thought of you out there on your own, with raiders and mutants and who  _knows_ what else that's appeared in the last month – at  _least_ ask Jonah."

"Jonah has his own work, and besides, Sammy's more settled when he's around," Sarah replied, not as patiently as the first two times Anna had asked. "And I've done this trip dozens of times before with no problems.  _And_ General Prescott just  _came_ from Bunker Hill, so unless the raiders hid and waited until she'd gone, the road's  _fine._ "

"You never know," Anna murmured reluctantly, still frowning, but gave the boxes of mutfruit preserves one last pat and stepped back without further argument. "Now remember to ask Doc Weathers to come in person as well as buying that ointment. Oh, and if Taffington's sent someone, we -"

"Still owe them from a month ago, I  _remember_ , Anna," Sarah finished for her. 

"Yes, of course you do," Anna replied. "Don't mind me, Sarah dear; only you  _will_ be careful, won't you?"

" _Goodbye_ , Anna," Sarah said, rolling her eyes, and gave the brahmin's lead a jerk to start it moving.

The road down to Bunker Hill proved to be, as Sarah expected, largely deserted and entirely safe; she passed one group of Minutemen heading north, and exchanged nods with their leader. An hour leading the brahmin, the beast's steady plod unchanged regardless of how much or how little she was asked to pull, brought her to the old world monument turned trading center. Bypassing the caravan entrance – the caravaneers guarded their territory jealously, and with the new defences the General'd arranged, leaving animals outside the walls was nearly as safe these days – Sarah tied the brahmin to the picket line just south of the main gate and got to work unloading the cart.

 

 

 

Hours later, tired but well-satisfied, Sarah checked the contents of the cart against her list one last time and smiled to herself. Thanks to the Abernathys not coming – a flooded road along their usual route, and the Minutemen still on the way to clear another, according to someone down from Sanctuary – the mutfruit supply turned out smaller than everyone expected, with prices rising accordingly.  _Might even be enough for us to take in a few more people before next harvest,_ Sarah thought as she started back for County Crossing.

By the time she crossed the north bridge the sun was setting, painting the river in streaks of glinting red and gold; Sarah stopped on the far bank beside a little copse of trees, allowing herself a moment to admire the view. For that long moment she stood there, silent, contentedly breathing in the crisp evening air before turning to continue on home.

A branch cracked within the copse; Sarah's head snapped around, hand moving toward the pistol holstered at her side as she peered within the trees, before she froze in place.

_But that's... me_ , Sarah thought dazedly, her eyes roaming over features glimpsed only in the occasional mirror. Her limbs remained uncooperative as she tried to do something,  _anything_ , besides stand and stare at her doppelganger. The other woman seemed nearly as scared as she, for some reason, dirt-streaked hands visibly shaking around the pistol she had gripped tight – and pointed at the ground. Sarah's gaze dropped to the gun, then back up to the woman's – the  _synth's_ – face, taking in the gaunt cheeks, the filthy, matted hair, and the desperation in her expression.

"When did you last eat?" Sarah found herself blurting out.

The other Sarah started. "What?"

"It's just -" Sarah said lamely, already kicking herself for having such  _stupid_ last words. "You look like you've not been eating. I haven't looked like that in months, now."

The synth hesitated before replying. "You were supposed to come through here every week," she said, giving Sarah a slightly accusing look.

"I do," Sarah told her. "Usually. But it's harvest time, and – you're going to kill me, aren't you?"

"I -" Other Sarah half-raised the gun before lowering it again. "I don't – I'm sorry. I  _have_ to."

_You think most of 'em want that any more than,_ Mr Valentine had started to say, and Sarah hadn't believed it, not really. But right then, seeing the face she'd tried to make look sincere and the voice she'd heard tell lies thousands of times, she could detect no trace of deception in either.  _Besides, what would be the point? Not like it changes anything if I believed her or not, once I'm dead._

"You never killed no one before, have you?" Sarah asked; the synth shook her head miserably and Sarah nodded. "Figured. I was fourteen, my first time. Ma'd just died of fever and I was trying to get to my aunt's place, only there was raiders on the way. Could sneak by most of 'em at night, but there was one I guess was guarding their camp and she – anyway. I was fourteen."

"Why are you telling me this?" Other Sarah asked in a near-whisper.

"I thought I had to kill her, too," Sarah said. "Her or me, right? Probably, anyway. Most likely she'd've seen me if I tried sneaking 'round her too, and that part of the Commonwealth's always been lousy with yao guai. Could've tried to find another way, gone around the raiders altogether maybe, but probably I'd just have wound up killed by something else instead. Still wondered for a long time after, though, if I couldn't've – if I really _had_ to do it."

"You don't _understand_ ," Other Sarah said, looking on the verge of tears. "What they do to synths who fail their assignments, it's – there _isn't_ any other way."

"The Institute," Sarah supplied, thinking again of Mr Valentine. _It's the Institute that's the real enemy, kid._ Other Sarah flinched, curling in on herself, then nodded, and Sarah suddenly, viscerally, knew just what the synth had felt – the rabbit-quick heartbeats thudding loud in her chest, with that one delayed beat right at the beginning making her fear her heart'd stopped entirely, just for half a second. _So scared,_ she thought. _I've not been that scared in so long. Does she always feel like that about them?_ She bit her lip, watching the synth, then made her decision.

"There was this synth that came to County Crossing not so long ago," Sarah told the other woman. "Said that most of you just want to be left alone to live your lives, like anyone else. I figure he's probably right about that, only it's not – you leave people alone, they don't tend to get to live their lives, they just wind up dead. If I was you, _I'd_ shoot me too, rather'n try and make my own way in the Commonwealth or go back to where you came from. But that's not the only – I've not told the others at County Crossing much about me yet. A sister, a twin I'd thought dead but who found her way to me... they'd believe it, I think. And if the Institute's likely to come looking for you, there are always other settlements we could go to."

Other Sarah stared at her disbelievingly. "I was sent to _kill_ you," she reminded Sarah. "Why would you want to – I'm not even a _human._ "

"What's your name?" Sarah asked her, smiling a little now. "We can't both be Sarah."

"M3-94," Other Sarah replied, and Sarah wrinkled her nose.

"That's not a name," she said. "We'll have to think up something proper by the time we get to County Crossing. Probably best if you don't talk to anyone much before I tell you what you'll need to know about my – _our –_ family and all that, too."

Other Sarah stayed where she was a long moment, wavering, then holstered her pistol and stepped cautiously toward Sarah.

"There's food in the cart if you don't want to wait," Sarah added, pulling at the brahmin's lead to start her walking once more. "And I'll make us some tea when we get back."

"I don't understand," Other Sarah said helplessly, falling in beside her.

"We'll figure it out," Sarah promised.

 


End file.
